Discharges and Distractions
by cruiscin lan
Summary: Mohinder had just wanted just a moment alone in his lab - a moment to reassess, a moment to reexamine, a moment to recover - but Elle was being a distraction.


Maya had taken Molly back to the apartment in Brooklyn. They'd be safe there together; Molly could keep track of any dangers lurking nearby, and Maya took the gun.

Mohinder had just wanted just a moment alone in his lab - a moment to reassess, a moment to reexamine, a moment to recover. But he wouldn't be safe alone, Maya had pointed out, and he could certainly use help cleaning up the mess. Besides that, they did have the human lightning storm at their disposal.

"So... think maybe I deserve a medal?"

It was the fourth interruptive inquiry in ten minutes. It wasn't just that the questions Elle liked to punctuate her questions by flicking a little spark at Mohinder, which he found more annoying than painful. He was trying to sweep up the glass from floor - carefully, so as not to hurt himself - which was increasingly difficult when dealing with electrical discharges and distractions. The glass had shattered when Sylar went straight through the pane, escaping from the sharpshooter who now devoted herself to keeping Mohinder from getting anything accomplished.

"You did good, Elle," he told her, exasperated.

"Yeah, but that wasn't the question. Was it _medal_ good?"

He wondered if perhaps she would leave him alone if he ignored her (she wouldn't). He wondered if by responding to her inane questions, he was encouraging her (he was). He wondered if there was any way to make her shut up just long enough for him to figure out what the next move was supposed to be (there was _one_...).

"Elle, if you're to ask questions, at least make yourself useful. There's a dustpan underneath the - "

"I just _saved your life_, dumbass." Elle walked over from the other side of the lab and leaned against a slate counter. "Clean it yourself."

Mohinder threw his broom to the ground in frustration. "That's what I've been _trying_ to do this whole time."

Elle fidgeted with the sling on her arm and looked away, muttering under her breath. "Can't help anyway, injured in the line of duty."

"Your injury is no excuse to be such a colossal annoyance to others." Mohinder picked the broom up from the floor and walked over to face Elle, leaning it against the table beside her. "You're being ridiculous."

"Oh, come on," Elle said, rolling her eyes. "It hurts like hell. I think you know what I mean," she added, smiling slyly. "Hey, Mohinder, when was the last time you've seen any action?"

"Are you kidding? You _saw_ me shoot Bennet."

"That's not the kind of action I'm talking about, Fight Club," Elle purred as she batted her eyes. She was exaggerating, obviously; she ran her tongue along the tips of her teeth and looped a finger on Mohinder's belt, tugging him towards her, a parody of every sexy scene she'd ever seen on the silver screen. Still, she was surprised to find Mohinder standing along the cool tabletop between her legs.

"_Don't_ tempt me," he growled so low she wouldn't have heard him had he not been leaning towards her, only inches from her face. Elle didn't listen to his words; she simply registered his tone, and her hand shot up from his belt loop to the back of his head, where she clutched his curls and lifted her lips to meet his.

Electricity jumped between the moisture on their lips, and Mohinder turned his head violently to the side to shake Elle's grasp. "Jesus Christ, Elle, what do you think you're doing?"

Her eyes widened at his reaction and then narrowed as she considered his question for a moment. Her eyebrows furrowed and the corners of her lips pulled down in the most adorable pout. Her game plan: play innocent. She shrugged and half-smiled. "Don't let me distract you, pretty boy."

"Don't tell me what to do, Slush-O," Mohinder replied.

"How refreshing!" Elle laughed. "You can _give_ as well as _take_."

He meant to ask her exactly what she meant by that comment, but found instead his hands running along her either side of her neck. She kissed him again, but the spark between them didn't hurt so much this time. She slid her tongue between his lips as he caressed and tugged at her earlobe.

Growing bolder, Mohinder inched her shirt up from her waist. He slid his hand underneath the fabric, cupping her breast gently. She, in turn, ran her free hand across his stomach and to the small of his back, where she tucked her fingers under his pants along the top of his buttocks and squeezed.

She sighed as Mohinder managed to unhook her bra, his palms warm on his skin. After successfully conquering one article of clothing, he thought he'd take on another, and tugged at her shirt. Together they managed to disrobe her free arm, but the sling was going to be troublesome. Elle tried twisting her torso around to pull her shirt over her head, but it bunched up in her sling. She struggled for a second, unable to see through the shirt that veiled her face, and she thwacked Mohinder solidly in the nose with the elbow of her injured arm - right in the funny bone.

Mohinder let loose a stream of expletives, muffled by his hands as he brought them to his face. His nose was throbbing, and he pressed his palms on either side of it to diminish the pain. Blood poured freely from his nostrils, down his philtrum and over his lips. It tasted like iron and wine. He squeezed his eyes shut to keep tears from escaping.

Elle was less ladylike. "Fucking shit, motherfucker!" she screamed. Her shirt was still stuck over her head, caught on her sling, but her naked arm clung to her other one and she rolled backwards on the table, knocking her head on some laboratory equipment. "Goddammit, asshole!"

"Geez, Elle," Mohinder groaned.

"Fuck-ass-prick-shit-bastard!" She slid off the tabletop as the shirt fell from her face and she sank to the floor. Mohinder sat beside her, cross-legged. Minutes passed before either of them were capable of any kind of rational conversation; Mohinder grumbled quietly to himself, while Elle's paroxysm of obscenities revealed compound words heretofore unknown in the English language.

When Elle seemed to exhaust her knowledge of unfriendly language, Mohinder tried wiping the now-drying blood on his palms on the knees of his pants. "That was bad," he remarked.

Elle huffed, resentful. "What was bad? The making out?"

"No, I meant the... the clumsiness." Mohinder blushed. "Actually, the making out was quite enjoyable."

For the second time that day, her eyes widened at his reaction and then narrowed as she considered his statement for a moment. Her eyebrows furrowed and the corners of her lips pulled down in the most adorable pout. "I thought so, too," she nodded.

"So," Mohinder hesitated, "shall we resume?"

Elle cocked her head and smirked. "I'm game if you are."

They let her shirt and her sling alone, but didn't waste time in shedding unecessary articles of clothing. They writhed together on the painted laboratory floor, staying clear of broken glass. Finally exhausted, the two lay curled into one another, relishing the sensation of skin against skin.

This time it was Elle who broke the silence. "So... think I deserve a medal _now_?"


End file.
